


Open Wound

by desert_neon (sproutgirl)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But we know he's not really dead so yay?, Canonical Character Death, It's a funeral okay?, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Not A Fix-It, Sad, Seriously Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson's funeral, as told by Natasha's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Wound

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, you guys. This is my first foray into Avengers fandom, and it's not even a happy fic. It's seriously Not A Fix-It. Please be aware that everyone still believes Coulson to be dead at the end of this.
> 
> Beta-ed by the awesome [Allochthon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allochthon) And thanks to all the people on the C/C AIM chat. You are all awesome.

Natasha crossed the grounds, stepping lightly on her toes to keep her stiletto heels from sticking in the grass. Dawn was just starting to creep over the city, hazy pinks and oranges streaking across the sky. She was early, having awakened to an empty bed and an even emptier apartment, and she hadn’t needed any super spy skills to know where Clint had gone.

Figuring out exactly which tree he was perched in, however, would take some deduction, especially if he didn’t want to be found. She eyed the choices for a moment, knowing he’d want to be far enough away for a broad field of vision, but close enough to be able to hear. There were two trees that fit the bill, one directly behind the targeted area and one off to the left, both leafy enough to hide his nest. She moved to the first choice, carefully rounding the hole in the ground and ignoring the mound of dirt next to it, draped with an artificial green cover, as if anyone would mistake it for real grass. They all knew why they were there; trying to disguise it was just distasteful.

“Clint,” she called softly into the tree.

She didn’t get a verbal response, but the leaves rustled in one spot for just a second, and she took a step back, evaluating the best way up. Sinking down, she put all her power into her jump, and grabbed a lower branch. She crossed her ankles lightly and pulled herself up. From there, she was able to make her way up and over, settling neatly next to him on a thick limb. She said nothing, just leaned lightly into him, letting their shoulders and arms brush.

The sun finished rising, the brightness dulled by the shade of their cover. In the parking lot, cars started pulling in. It was earlier than normal for a service, the cemetery not yet officially open; Fury’s concession for having a ceremony at all. There might not have been one full stop, she knew, if he hadn’t loved Coulson too, in his own way.

Hill was the first one to exit a car, Sitwell just behind her. A few other higher-ups trickled in; Jackson, Martinez, Wakowski. Blake, that asshole. She felt more than heard Clint grunt beside her, but still he didn’t speak. She wondered if Blake had gotten into Coulson’s office yet, or if it stayed empty. She’d have to talk to Fury about Phil’s couch. Clint was sure to want it, eventually.

A groundsman scurried over, several folding chairs in hand. He set them up quickly, then disappeared again. More cars pulled in, including a limousine. Stark, Pepper, and Banner stepped out of it, Stark’s arm firmly around Pepper’s waist as they moved. Natasha wondered if it was a mark of respect for Coulson that Stark was on time, or if it was purely Pepper’s doing. She was inclined to think the latter, but the subdued suit Stark wore and the tautness in his body made her second guess that.

Rogers pulled into the lot then, and Natasha wondered where he’d come from, how far he’d traveled on that bike. He crossed to Stark, and Natasha carefully didn’t tense, but the two shook hands, apparently cowed into behaving by the solemnity of the occasion. Pepper and Banner also got handshakes, even as two more cars turned in from the road. Another limo and a hearse.

Clint took a sharp breath next to her, though she didn’t know if it was the funereal car that prompted it, or the appearance of Coulson’s mother from the limousine. She was followed by Phil’s sister, brother, and their spouses and kids. Clint’s hand covered Natasha’s, and she threaded their fingers together.

The back of the hearse opened, and heads started swivelling, everyone clearly looking for the missing spies, the two members of Phil’s family that were expected to be there. Natasha didn’t move.

“Go.” Clint’s voice was quiet, and rough, and she turned her head to examine him. He didn’t look over at her in return, his eyes tracking the people gathering at the back of the transport. Coulson’s brother and brother-in-law, Jack and Wayne. Sitwell and Stark and Rogers. She allowed herself a small smile. Phil would have loved that, Captain America paying his final respects by bearing his coffin. The fact that Stark was helping as well might have confused him for a moment, but Natasha knew they’d had an odd sort of mutual respect/hate relationship.

But there was clearly a person missing, and she looked to Clint again. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I can’t. But one of us should . . .” He made a helpless sort of gesture at the hearse, and she nodded. She squeezed his fingers once, then let go and maneuvered to the edge of the branch. She dropped gracefully, sure to land on her toes.

Being certain to mask her origin point, she made her way to the parking lot, startling even Hill and Sitwell with her sudden appearance. The first to greet her, however, was Coulson’s mom.

“Natasha, dear.” The older woman held herself together well, her grief contained to her eyes—so like her son’s—and the slight tenseness around her mouth. She didn’t try to hug Natasha; Coulson had long ago drilled into her the proper handling of each of his two favorite assets. Also just like the son, the mother was respectful of people’s boundaries.

“Mrs. Coulson,” she said, inclining her head.

“Lacey, please, Natasha.”

“Lacey,” she corrected herself, then nodded to the rest of the Coulsons standing there.

“Is Clint on his way?” Beth asked, and Natasha kept her face blank as she turned to her.

“He’s already here,” she answered, and merely raised an eyebrow when Beth tried to ask where. Beth fell silent when her mother touched her arm, and Natasha spared Lacey a smile.

“If he’s unable, I’m afraid we’re short one pallbearer. Do you know—”

“I’ll do it.” Ideally, she knew, pallbearers should be of similar height, to make the carrying easier. But she was more than capable of holding her own, even if she had to use her arms rather than her shoulder.

The same thought seemed to occur to Beth, but she thankfully said nothing.

“Thank you,” Lacey said, and Natasha nodded again before making her way to the group behind the hearse.

“Agent Romanoff,” Rogers greeted her, inclining his head.

“Captain,” she replied, before turning to greet Jack and Wayne. If Jack felt any surprise or awe at standing next to his brother’s boyhood hero, he covered it well with the usual Coulson aplomb. Wayne, on the other hand, kept eyeing Stark like he didn’t quite understand what the billionaire was doing there.

“Where’s Legolas?”

She turned to Stark, giving him a cool look. “ _Clint_ is here already, in position.”

“Position?” Rogers asked.

“He sees better from a distance,” was the only explanation she gave. Sitwell gave her a tight, approving smile.

“We were counting on him to be our sixth,” Jack said, his expression giving nothing away.

“I’ve got it,” she assured him.

He nodded and signaled the driver of the hearse, who helped them pull the coffin out. It wasn’t SOP, obviously. Pallbearers were supposed to go from the church or funeral home to the car, not from the car to the grave site. But there had been no formal service, at Coulson’s request, and this small walk was their chance to honor him as best they could. It was awkward, hefting the coffin up, but they managed, due in no small part to Rogers’ strength. They led the procession, Natasha keeping steady despite her heels, her smaller stride, her open wound.

It was a short service, over all. Coulson hadn’t been particularly religious, so the agency’s chaplain kept it brief. Jack said a few words, as did Sitwell, and Beth kept a hand on her mother’s shoulder the entire time. When the coffin had been lowered and Lacey presented with a folded flag, people started to move. Some headed back to their cars, others stopped to say a few words to Coulson’s family. Lacey nodded and shook hands and thanked people for coming, until only the family and the Avengers (plus Pepper and minus Thor, who was on Asgard) remained.

“Mr. Stark,” Lacey said, offering him her hand, “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. We could have arranged our own travel and accommodations, but I can’t tell you what a relief it was not to have to worry about those sorts of things in a time like this.”

Natasha watched Stark carefully, prepared for his usual bluster and ego, but he simply took Lacey’s hand in both of his and said, “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Coulson. Your son . . . He was a good man.”

“Yes, he was. And Captain.” She turned then to Rogers, who stood straight and tall as he shook her hand as well. “It would have meant the world to Phil that you were here today. I don’t know if he told you, but he was quite the fan of your stories when he was a boy.”

Natasha didn’t do anything as telling as snort or roll her eyes, but she allowed herself a small smile. Rogers hadn’t specifically said, but she was pretty sure Coulson had fanboyed all over the super soldier when he’d brought him to the ‘carrier.

“Ah, yes, ma’am. It did come up in passing,” Rogers said, a tint to his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “But believe me, the honor is mine.”

“Dr. Banner?” Lacey said then, beckoning the man forward. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Over the past month, the media coverage surrounding the Avengers had been great, and footage analyzed again and again. Banner was the only one not recognizable to the public at this point, and Natasha knew he’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Dr. Banner, I understand you are also a member of . . . this team. I want to thank you for being here, and for fighting in my son’s honor. Whatever your connection is to the Hulk, please pass that along to him.”

Banner offered her a small, uncertain smile and ducked his head. “I will. Thank you.”

“And that goes for your other teammate as well. Thor, I believe?”

“We’ll tell him, Mrs. Coulson,” Rogers assured her. “When he returns.”

She nodded. “Natasha.”

Natasha managed a smile for her. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her best effort, but this wasn’t a situational op, and she didn’t have to convince anybody of anything. “Mrs.—Lacey,” she amended off the older woman’s look.

“May I touch you?”

Natasha hesitated, but then gave her consent with a nod. Lacey’s hand came up to her cheek, just resting there for a few seconds. “You were precious to him. I know the three of you pulled off some dangerous, well, missions? Is that the right word?”

“Missions, assignments,” Natasha agreed. “Ops.”

“I never did buy that FBI story. I always thought the CIA was more in line with Phil’s skills. And now there’s SHIELD, which, I have a feeling, is even more dangerous. Thank you, for having his back. And Clint’s.”

“Honestly, he had ours. He was . . .” She paused, struggling to find the English word, something she’d never had to search for before. “Honest,” was what she finally settled on. “An honest man in a sea of spies.”

Lacey nodded, ignoring Stark as he quietly muttered about Barton’s absence. Natasha shot Pepper a grateful look when she elbowed Stark in the ribs, shutting him up. Lacey just moved past them all though, straight for Clint’s tree. Natasha couldn’t even begin to guess how she knew, but the older woman stopped at the base and looked up. “Clint, sweetheart. Come on down from there.”

There was nothing for a long moment, then the rustling of leaves and the sudden appearance of the archer as he dropped down. He stumbled a bit on landing, so unlike him, but Lacey held out her arms and he let his momentum tip him forward, crumbling into her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Mom?” Stark asked quietly, and Natasha saw Banner shrug in response.

“Hush, sweetheart. I know you did the best you could. Phil . . . Well, he always did throw himself into situations, didn’t he? To protect others.”

“He was trying to get me back,” Clint said, the words muffled against her shoulder but still audible. “If I hadn’t . . . I was compromised, and he was trying to get me back.”

“And here you are,” Lacey said, gentle but firm. “He would consider that worth it.”

Clint didn’t reply, but Natasha knew he didn’t agree. Clint never thought he was worth anything. His hands shifted up to Lacey’s shoulders, gripping tightly, taking comfort from the only mother figure he knew. Natasha’s eyes followed the movement, catching on the decoration he so rarely wore.

“Holy shit,” Stark said, and she could only be grateful that his voice was still respectfully lowered. “That’s a wedding ring. Couls—Phil was holding out on us.”

All eyes turned to her, and she shrugged at them, keeping her face bland. “It was classified.”

“But the cellist?” Pepper asked, and Natasha offered her an apologetic smile she didn’t really feel.

“Bow,” she said succinctly. “It was Coulson’s little inside joke. The fake relationship before that was with a district manager for Target.” She shrugged again. “He thought he was funny, at least.”

Rogers was the first one to break, snorting a laugh, and he immediately looked horrified at himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. Natasha grinned at him, this one honest and real. Phil had always had a horrible sense of humor, making puns and pointing them out himself. Banner gave a rueful little chuckle, and Stark shook his head. “Good for him,” he muttered, eyes back on Clint.

Clint was upright now, though he had a death grip on Lacey’s forearms. She was still speaking to him, low and consoling, and he nodded every so often. Natasha had been doing her best for him this past month, but between the loss of his husband, the guilt, and the mind-fuckery, it hadn’t really done much good. She wasn’t exactly the best at emotional comfort anyway. Love certainly wasn’t her strong suit. She hadn’t believed in it for so long that it was hard to adjust to it, even when it was right in front of her. But she loved Clint, and Phil, and her boys had loved each other, in a way that was beyond her capacity to understand.

She watched her one remaining tether take strength from one of Phil’s, and hoped it would be enough.


End file.
